Hot Listfully and Gunswap — 07–2023
The Cafe of Thermopylae had a really simple concept, it. was the only decent cafe at the very entrance to Hell. But also, as a bit of marketing and kitschy design they gave you your coffee in big metal thermoses so that you could take it with you as you descended through the hot gates into hell and your final repose.
For these reasons it was a popular destination.
One time my buddy Muscleslaus the Spartan (somewhat redundant, with a name like that you thought he was from Thebes?!? hahh hah), he had to take an incredibly magnificent dump based on having drank 10 double espressos, eaten 5 skewers of Souvlaki, and 4 slices of moussaka.
Just as he went to open the door to the toilet who should enter the front of the cafe but the Emperor of Persia, Darius the Great, with an army of 2000 soldiers (some of whom were charioteers, their chariots parked outside). Darius had a scowl of extreme constipation on his cold and commanding visage.
Muscleslaus had very few requirements in life but one was no cutting in line, especially not for tyrants.
So he hurried in to the toilet dropped, set himself about his business, and prepared to defend that business with his Dory, the Greek short spear.
Darius sent wave after wave of his prized body guards to die in the narrow confines of that restroom. Normally management frowns on that sort of thing. But when you’re running a hot cafe at the portal for hell you get to make all sorts of deals with the netherworld, and so as quickly as Darius sent his bodyguards into the toilet, Muscelslaus perforated them and stuffed them down the same, extremely powerful, toilet — FLUSH — and there was one more soul down to Hades — or in this case Pluto, Lord of the Underworld.
In the end Darius could take it no longer, and fled back to Persia, with shit in his drawers. Muscelslaus came out of the toilet to the cheers of the entire establishment which soon turned to jeers once the stench of his excrement followed him, for the powerful toilet had at last succumbed to the harsh treatment and was a little bit overflowing with two or three Persian soldiers blocking it, and a strong stew of diarrhea.
— IG Agent 77
November 29, 2022 — Agent 88’s Time Travel Log
I don’t know if that’s such a good name for my log cause I’m not really time traveling, I mean I time traveled to get here obviously — basically because I thought it was a good way to get drugs.
But now I have some drugs, courtesy of shrifty Eric at the Airport — I asked him why his name wasn’t shifty Eric or even Schwifty Eric and he just scowled and told me to ask his “damned parents”
Anyway so I’m on a flight to Sarasota, which happened to remind me of my buddy Fortunato, who was from that region.
Fortunato was a pretty popular guy, but damn did he have a mouth on him. He was always giving everyone shit, like he was stuck in an 80s sitcom and didn’t know how to get out. But he distributed those jibes around enough that people didn’t mind getting it every now and then because of how much they loved watching others get hit in turn. As I’m a sensitive sort I finally couldn’t take it any longer, and resolved to kill the prick.
Gosh, this pot is really good — almost as good as the pot I had waiting for Fortunato when he got to my apartment. He got real comfortable, smoking and laughing, resting on my couch, and fell asleep giggling. It was really good pot, and then I pushed the lever that lowered the bed, which was driven by a pneumatic mechanism, it lowered and squashed Fortunato like a tomato in a vice grip. He woke up halfway through the squashing and screamed and thrashed about, but he was stuck.
As the bed lowered inexorably with Fortunato caught beneath it like a bug his screams and struggles increased but then came the sound of cracking bones, and his screams weakened for they were no longer those of man in terror but of one that was dying. The screams decreased to whimpers and then gurgles as the blood filled his lungs, pierced by his cracking ribs, and the blood flowed out on the wood floor.
It was a mess to clean up!
— IG Agent 88
GEt Your ICE CREAM ! TOOTSIE FROOTSI ICE Cream !!
(Editor’s Note: what followed was the ramblings of a lunatic about aliens, hitmen, mind control Magnum ice creams, and some other stuff that should be left out of a highly moral publications such as our own)
This article tracks recent developments on the Illuminati Ganga Twitter account, with extra exposition for Illuminati Ganga Agents 88 and 77
Curation and Editorial work was done by IG Agent 86.
The Playlist for this article is
ADDENDUM
Taking up the suggestion of Agent 88 we have put the wise saying of Agent 77 onto a t-shirt and other items of apparel.
A Joint Out Of Time
Is Better
Than Time Out Of Joint
— ancient Illuminati Ganga Time Travelers Saying
https://iganga.creator-spring.com/listing/time-travelers-joint
To Which Agent 77 sent us a link suggesting we eat a bucket of cocks, extra crispy
OTHER RESOURCES
As you will no doubt have noticed we reference tweets from the following people who are not members of Illuminati Ganga — check them out
Damien Scott — @MadScientistFF
This guy creates engagement one tweet at a time, asking questions you want answered as long as Ketchup is not one of the answers — mainly.
Woman Of Wonder— @WonderW97800751
She’s Random, Outlandish, and Sarcastic, qualities which Illuminati Ganga on an organizational level are firmly opposed to, even if several agents do manifest these qualities in their pursuit of the organization’s goals.
Other Articles of Interest in relation to the Agents involved in this article
Agent 88 would like to get high, but his only available source was a party he went to last year:
Agent 77 cleans up dead skinheads and perverts from a party